


ugly.

by alfing



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Gen, Gore, Graphic Description, Insecure Peter Parker, Insecurity, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Poor Peter, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 00:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16964262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alfing/pseuds/alfing
Summary: peter has eczema and he hates it.





	ugly.

**Author's Note:**

> based off irl shit for me.  
> lots of skin being removed so yeet outta here if that's not your thing.

Getting bit by a radioactive spider may have given him a six-pack but it didn't give him clear skin. 

Peter has eczema. It was something he was born with and it seemed to like to stick with him all the time. He hated it. It made his skin look disgusting, all mutilated like he'd been stabbed all over. And the itching-- _ god _ , he hated the itching. It burned and burned and burned and never stopped. He felt like a freak with fucked up skin and he hated how there was nothing he could do to fix it. 

All he could do was hide it.

 

May and Ned were the only ones who knew about skin condition. When he was little his aunt would soothe his itching episodes with a cool cloth and steroid ointment, assuring him that it was alright, that the itchiness would go away soon. The burning was still there, but subtle, and he would always feel better after his aunt cared for him. But as he got older things changed. 

For awhile the rashes decreased. What used to be scars and scabs all over his arms, legs, neck, and face diminished into a few little rashes on his legs. Some days he wouldn't have any rashes or scabs at all, just pale scars on his body that remind him of what used to be. That period of his life was the most relieving experience he'd ever had. But then the summer heat came and brought back that burning sensation. 

Peter learned that his itching became more aggressive when he was hot, irritated, or angry. Sometimes he'd claw at his skin until his arms were nothing but a bloody mess and his nails were stuffed with dead skin. He began trimming his nails until they were nothing but nubs in an attempt to discourage himself from itching but it only got worse. He still managed to find a way to subconsciously itch at his rashes so that now even the skin on the tips of his fingers peeled away and bled. Every episode had him feeling dirty and repulsive. 

 

Recently, Peter's skin had been pretty clear. Ever since he became Spider-Man, he's had less itching issues and he assumed that the bite had something to do with it. He could wear t-shirts and shorts without much worrying about people seeing his ugly skin. He hasn't had to hide under long sleeves in a long while and he felt like he could actually breathe. It was a relief that he didn't have to tell Mr. Stark about the scars and the scabs because it was already bad enough that his idol knew that the web-slinging vigilante from Queens was just a dorky little kid in a red suit. 

But then he woke up one morning with rashes again. They weren't huge rashes, just subtle little red patches on his arms and he decided that he was still okay, he just needed to put on a little vaseline and  the moisture will kick out those dry spots. But by the end of the day they had spread. Peter had scratched at the red patches until they bled and when they scabbed over, new rashes appeared until he scratched them away, too. 

It was the weekend and he was glad that there was no school because he didn't think he could handle going anywhere as he sat on the floor of his room surrounded by bloody tissues, the creases in his elbows oozing blood and pus.

He cried. 

His arms burned and bled and his fingertips stung from rubbing them against his dry skin so roughly. He was doing so well he didn't understand why it always had to end up like this. 

When May came home she carefully picked up his bloody tissues and gently patted his bloody arms with a damp cloth until all the red was washed away and his wounds didn't hurt as much anymore. She put on his ointment to soothe his itch and he felt like a little kid again. 

 

He started wearing long sleeves again. The fabric was cold against his arms but he knew that eventually it would get too hot underneath his thick hoodie and he would once more feel the urge to itch. Ned knew what the long sleeves meant but he never questioned it, never pushed and he was grateful. Ned began carrying washcloths in his bag for him in eighth grade, just so he could help his friend when he needed him. 

 

At first, Mr. Stark was baffled by his change in wardrobe. 

“Kid, why the hell are you wearing a hoodie? It's like seventy degrees in here.”

Peter froze and panicked a moment, scrambling for an excuse. “Well, you know teenagers. We're always cold,” he shrugged 

Mr. Stark had seemed skeptical but didn't pry. The subject was never brought up again. 

 

The following week, the rash spread again. It crawled up his neck and splashed red across his face like a nasty burn and it might as well have been that because his skin felt like it was on fire. He thought that maybe it was because he needed to change his sheets. Sometimes when they got too dirty it would irritate his skin so he would have to change them before it got too bad. So that's what he did and he ignored the ugly patches and opted to just liberally coat them with petroleum jelly. 

The next morning, it got worse. 

May was concerned with the appearance of these new rashes and suggested that maybe he was having an allergic reaction to something. She put more ointment on his skin and told him to try taking some allergy medicine. 

A quick swallow of benadryl seemed to help with the sudden swelling of his rashes over the next few days but they didn't go away completely. Fortunately no one asked him about it at school and he was able to carry on with only the faint feeling of anxiety that someone was going to see the worst of his scars. 

He wore a hoodie with a thick hood to try his best to cover most of what was visible on his neck. His face didn't itch, thankfully, but there was that burning feeling just underneath his chin. Peter fought against it, keeping his hands tightly clenched on his desk as he tried to focus on the lecture. 

Something about lobbyists, blah blah blah. Something about Super PACs, blah blah blah. 

Peter felt his hand reach for his neck and he hesitated. Just a little scratch. He won't even touch the rash, just the one clear spot next to it, it'll be okay. He indulged the burn just for a second but then he found that he couldn't stop. One finger itching just under his chin turned into four fingers clawing at the flaky dead skin on the side of his neck. He could see the flakes raining down his shoulder and onto his jeans. His dry skin peeled away until he could feel a wet smooth underneath. There was no blood when he looked at his fingers, but a clear liquid instead. His neck was oozing pus. 

No one was looking at him, thankfully, as he hastily wiped the dead skin off his body. He didn't have any tissues and he was too embarrassed to stand up and get some from the teacher's desk. So he used his hood. 

It was disgusting, using the fabric of his clothes to stop the oozing but he didn't have anything else. After a few moments, Peter pulled the hood away to check the state of his scratch and found his hood sticky with pus and his neck still oozing. He wanted to go home. But today was a compound day. 

 

By the time the final bell rang and class was dismissed, his neck had stopped secreting clear fluids and he could walk without scrunching up his shoulder to keep the hood in place. He was going to have to wash it later. Peter rushed out of the school and faltered when he saw Happy's familiar car waiting for him at the curb. Groaning inwardly, he forced a grin and bounded up to the car. 

He was nervous the entire ride to the compound. Happy didn't say anything about his face but that only made Peter feel like he was being judged silently. He scratched his arm through his sleeve anxiously, quickly rubbing it instead when he realized what he was doing.

As soon as the car stopped he quickly jumped out with a quick “Thanks, Happy!” and he rushed into the compound in an attempt to escape his nerves. That all failed when the first person he ran into was  _ the  _ Captain America. 

“Whoa, there, Peter,” the much, much larger man laughed, steadying the teen. “Why the rush?” 

“M-Mister Captain America Rogers, sir!” he stammered in surprise, jumping back and trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. 

“Just Steve, please.” 

“Uh, sorry. I'm just really excited,” he said, mind screaming at him to be cool because that's  _ Captain effing America _ . 

“Don't worry about it,” Steve assured and he ruffled Peter's hair in an amiable gesture. “See you at dinner.” And then he jogged away. 

Peter stood there, mouth agape because  _ holyshitCaptainAmericajustruffledhishairhe'snevergoingtowashitagain- _ but then he realized that he saw his face. Captain America saw his ugly, dry face and he didn't say anything but Peter knew, he  _ felt _ that he was being judged. He wanted to barf. 

He soberly traveled further into the compound, hoping that he didn't run into any other Avengers until he could figure out a way to hide his face without looking suspicious. Peter decided that was a dumb idea because all he had was his Spider-Man mask and he couldn't possibly wear that all day. 

“FRIDAY, can you tell Mr. Stark to move our plans to tomorrow? I have a lot of homework I gotta do first,” he lied, but he didn't think he could face his mentor like this. 

“Of course,” came the AI's response. 

 

Peter skipped dinner. He couldn't find the courage to go out there and eat with everyone when he looked like a mess. Mr. Stark and the others had tried to convince him to come out but he gave them the lame excuse that he was tired. He curled up on the soft bed in his room, bundled up tightly in warm blankets. His neck itched again but he ignored it, falling asleep instead. 

He woke up at three in the morning to the feeling of his own hand scraping skin off his neck. He sat up and furiously dug into his skin, tearing off dried flakes with both of his hands, sobbing at the sound of his nails against his skin like sandpaper. After there was nothing left to tear away, he stopped. Skin was stuffed in the nubs of his nails and he sullenly wiped them clean. Peter brushed away the flakes that had fallen onto the bed and on his own legs and he felt dirty again. 

He grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and pressed it against his oozing neck. It was wet and stick with pus. Peter was tired and he felt gross. Nothing seemed to be working anymore. Vaseline only seemed to irritate his skin even more and allergy medicine doesn't take away the itch. He felt that death might be kinder. 

He got out of bed and wandered into the bathroom. He needed to shower. Peter turned on the water and undressed while he waited for the water to warm. He hissed when the spray hit his body, the water stinging his wounds as it cleaned them. It was painful but he needed this, he didn't shy away from the sting. When his body finally adjusted to the feeling of water on his open wounds, he just stood there for awhile with his arms stretched in front of him, letting the water soothe his burning skin like his aunt did. Peter sighed and wiped away his tears. His neck stopped oozing and he just let the water run over his scars and scabs. He pretended that it could wash them all away and leave him with the clear skin he's always desired. He stayed like that until he washed away all the soap and drowsiness seemed to settle into his bones. He was reluctant to leave the comfort of the shower but he knew that turning into a wrinkly prune would do him no good. 

Exiting the shower, he carefully dried himself and dressed. He put on the ointment he had brought with him and returned to his room where he laid down until sleep took him again. 

 

The morning found Peter wide awake and dressed, sitting at the breakfast table with a bowl of Fruit Loops in front of him and his Spider-Man mask sitting over his face. Needless to say, Bucky was very confused by this predicament. 

He walked into the kitchen, keeping a steady eye on the teen the whole way there and continued to watch him as he found himself a granola bar. “Is this some new meme?” Bucky asked after pouring himself a glass of orange juice. 

“Uh, I'm not going to ask how you know about memes,” Peter said, briefly lifting up his mask to shovel a spoonful of colorful loops into his mouth before covering it again. The crunch was still audible beneath the fabric. 

Bucky sighed and moved to sit in the seat across from Peter and the teen pointedly kept his gaze directed elsewhere. “Okay, what's wrong? You've been acting weird since you got here.” 

“What do you mean? Nothing's wrong, I'm perfectly normal. You're the one who's weird, Mr. Weird Weirdo. They should call you the Weirdo Soldier because you're so...” Peter faltered because he could tell this was going nowhere. 

“Uhuh,” Bucky huffed skeptically, raising one amused brow. “Right, if you won't tell me, someone else is bound to get it out of you sooner or later, Mr. Weird Weirdo.” 

“I'm telling you, everything's fine.”

And then Mr. Stark entered the room and squinted at his masked mentee. “What's this? What did I say about masks at the table, kiddo?” he walked up to the teen and pulled the mask off his face, causing Peter's hair to puff up in a mess. 

“Not to wear them,” he answered sulkily after quickly pulling up the hood of his sweater. 

The action earned him two suspicious looks. “What're you doing, why are you hiding your face, kid?” Tony crouched down in front of Peter who kept turning away to hide. “What, did you hit your face on the door or something? I promise I will not make fun of you if you did.” 

“No, that's not it, I...” Peter sighed, feeling his resolve crumble as he slowly pulled down his hood to reveal his rash. “I have eczema...” 

Tony winced at the sight and Peter felt tears well up in his eyes because there he was, exposing himself to his idol and father-figure, showing him such a disgusting face. He knew he was being judged. He  _ had _ to be judging him. He was gross! His face was flaky and disgusting! 

He flinched when Tony reached out to him and froze when he felt fingers touch his dry cheek. “Aw, kiddo, why didn't you tell me? This looks pretty bad but Banner has been working on a new ointment that might help this out.”

Peter looked up at his mentor with wide eyes, confusion and hope shining in his brown orbs. “You... you don't think I look gross?” 

“We've seen worse things than a bad rash, kid. This is nothing,” Bucky assured, taking a gulp of juice. 

“You heard the Bucket, you don't need to worry about what you look like around us,” Tony said light heartedly, grinning at his mentee. “You'll be alright.”

For the first time in his life, Peter didn't feel like an ugly monster. 


End file.
